Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun

by Jeffrey Cook

  Even for the Maori, once this battle turned, it was bloody, brutal, and short. They were pinned between our well-drilled musket ranks, our sniper, and our monster – and on the other side, ranks on ranks of fresh warriors led by the most decorated of our tribe's men and one insane woman. By the time the sun was fully risen, our enemy's raiding band was all dead, dying, fled, or captured. We had our reinforcements, by whatever miraculous occurrence and feat of diplomacy.

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  June 13th, 1816

  37º03' S 175º53' E

  Miss Penn told me something of what went on with the other tribe. Raids had been conducted both ways, so they knew where to find the other village readily enough. Well away from it, they called out to the other to make sure they knew that there were people approaching, and some of them would be unarmed. They certainly got attention, but were met at first with hostility.

  Miss Bowe, at their signal, dropped down from above with the ornithopter, putting quite the fright into the people of the village. That fright seemed to delay their instinct to fight their enemies, and eventually, approach was permitted, though as slow and careful as our first contact here. The discussions were difficult, even with Miss Bowe's presence and the tales of the rest of us. The tribe had already almost accepted that they would be destroyed and were seeking to die well. It is almost impossible to convince people in such circumstances that a few outsiders make so significant a difference as to make allying with the tribe currently being wiped out worthwhile.

  This was much of their delay in returning, simply trying to find some inroad. Miss Penn went to her cards to seek some answer, which seemed to spellbind these other tribesmen as much as it had our own once it was explained what she was doing. For all that it is meaningless showmanship, to the right people, her showmanship can be quite effective. Through this reading of her cards, knowledge of their culture, and clever deception – not how she puts it, certainly, she would still have us believe she sees the future as revealed by her deck – she convinced them that it had to be put to a trial.

  And, of course, since these people so respect warfare, the decision should be made by pitting Miss Bowe against the greatest and most renowned warrior of the tribe they were visiting. She gambled then, on Miss Bowe, stating that if Miss Bowe lost, they should all surrender. I am certain she knew just what sort of risk she was putting herself in then. What I find harder to believe is that the Maori she had traveled there with agreed. Should Miss Bowe win the wager, however, then their warriors would become allied to our own and follow our war chief.

  Miss Penn described the ensuing fight as a constant struggle of brute force, powerful weapons, and greater reach against speed and agility, with Miss Bowe circling, evading his weapons, and darting in time and again. The tribesmen made a circle about them to watch, and every now and then, she swore they moved in to tighten the circle and restrict movement all the more, once they understood Miss Bowe's advantages over their own warrior. Whether this is true or not, in the end, Miss Bowe defeated the tribesman through a thousand cuts, bleeding him out over the course of a battle until he fell, defeated, without receiving more than a single, shallow cut herself, struck early in the fight.

  Having seen Miss Bowe in combat before, Miss Penn thinks she may well have been able to win sooner, for the man overextended himself many times. She is somewhat certain, though not absolutely so, that Miss Bowe wished to leave no doubt at all in the other warrior's minds that there was no luck to her victory. There remained no way to question who had won. With their best defeated, there was some talk and further council, but they had at last agreed to honor the agreement, and the tribes were joined in war.

  In a hurry to return to us, they had traveled day and night, resting as little as possible to cover the ground. As such, most of them rest around us, though the new tribesmen do not yet trust us enough to sleep without posting their own guards. Negotiations continue for how much they will attempt to adopt the new tactics our allies have learned, as well as to what degree they will be willing to fight alongside their former enemies, or how much they will fight as their own group for solely their own glory. I am certain all of this will be resolved in time. For now, our numbers have been increased; we live for another day, and our enemy has something else to think about.

  June 15th, 1816

  37º03' S 175º53' E

  My Dearest Cordelia,

  The end of this series of battles amidst the larger Maori wars is almost upon us. Miss Bowe and Miss Penn's peculiar brand of Maori diplomacy persuaded a second tribe to join with us. Afterwards, a third, curious about this development, approached us, and would eventually offer alliance. While our numbers still fall far short of York's, we have some fighting chance now. Despite this, death remains the most likely outcome. I wish it were not so, but as always, I write now as much to clear my thoughts and feel your prayers and best wishes with us as anything else.

  If we are able to somehow win this fight, the Maori we are now working with should have captured enough muskets and land to somewhat even this war, so long as this three-tribe alliance lasts. There is certainly no guarantee of that, but they know, I think, that one way or another, this is our last fight here. Certainly everyone is preparing in their own way as if this is to be our last fight. Prayer is common, both among our number, and the Maori themselves, though I am quite sure it is not the same. Still, for the right occasion, perhaps God will hear all of us. I cannot say for sure, but I can hope that we have some providence on our side for defeating such a man as York has proven himself to be.

  We are as ready as we're going to get. Eddy is recovered enough to make the journey and guide the muskets, though certainly not as healthy as he would prefer to be. Still, once we are on the field, he can stay still enough that his wounds should not reopen.

  Miss Coltrane has the battle suit back into working condition, though at this point, until we find a new supply of coal, it has one extended fight left to it. The ship is prepared to deploy her into the midst of the fight, so long as we can clear a place to land that is not filled with our people. The Maori themselves are certainly ready for this fight; they have been working themselves up into a terrifying fury in the days leading up to this time. They understand the importance of this, for they are drawing in every man and boy capable of handling a weapon to assist in this great battle.

  I have been given my own command, reluctant as I am to take it. My one troop forms a second line of muskets to clear a path into their ranks for the spearmen and others taking part in what shall surely be a terrifying charge into the enemy lines. It is certainly not the best of plans, though we have still trained all those who fight with us to be as effective as possible against their less disciplined foes. It is the one advantage we seem to have over York, who has shown every sign of believing the tribesmen he orders around to be as expendable as the mercenaries he trapped with us back at Peru, or the soldiers he left to suffer before the Spanish. He is content to let them fight and die as they will, though at last, in this battle we should see more of York's people beyond just Wyndham's engine.

  We are not certain yet how we are to free Sir James, save to limit their ability to defend him by forcing them to put resources into this fight and, one hopes, get Eddy or Miss Bowe into their number. Meanwhile, we must hope that the enemy does not have the same insight into our tactics and timing as they have previously.

  I miss you terribly, even more than I miss England, after being so long in this dark and barbaric place. I can feel you comforting me even now though, my love, and thank you with all of my being. Your memory is my sanctuary and my light amidst these dark and ominous skies.

  My love, always,

  Gregory Conan Watts

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  June 16th, 1816

  37º03' S 175º53' E

  Our hand has been forced, and the first blow struck, in a most terrible manner. While our scouts were out in the middle of the nig
ht, watching for movement and readying our best path, a scream awakened those of us who had gone to bed. Miss Wright found the Larkin whore's prison open, for her usual nightly trip for the facilities, but this time, her guardians were on the floor amidst their own blood, and Larkin was nowhere to be found.

  Mrs. Fisher was still warm, but killed by a knife's cut to her throat. Mr. Franzini was yet alive, much as I might have preferred the other way about it, but had suffered a blow to the head and was stabbed in the gut. We do not know if he will survive or not, and he has not awoken since he was found. As best we can tell, the knife did not strike anything vital, but he had bled out significantly by the time he was discovered.

  Miss Bowe has been with the scouts and unaware, and Eddy is in no condition to track the woman. Certainly the Maori have their trackers, but are worried that she will lead them into ambush, not knowing how great a lead she has.

  My heart aches for the Captain, who now is even more resolute to do his part and deliver Miss Coltrane to the front and showing the opposition that we, too, have the gift of flight. The latter, we hope, will take away some of the fear they have of York, and help our morale some small bit. I can only hope he has some chance to gain peace and some part in burying Larkin for all she has done. Likewise, I curse the people who insisted we act as jailers in the hope that the lying bitch might prove useful to us somehow. She did nothing but screech like a harpy – and now has brought this woe upon us all when we most needed some hope.

  Upon seeing the scene, Miss Penn was most distraught. I did not know she had become so fond of Mrs. Fisher, but certainly it is a tragedy to all of us, and our entire company is now even more motivated than before to see York and all who serve with him put to justice. For the moment, I will feel no pity for any one of them who find themselves denied a Christian burial as they are thrown to the sharks.

  We have laid her as peacefully as we might for burial once we leave this place for more civilized ground. We have made certain that the Maori do not learn of the body, for this is no fit place for a woman of England to have her final rest, and certainly none of us is of the clergy.

  We now leave as soon as the scouts return, dawn or dusk be damned. We are at war – and will take our fury to our enemy.

  From the diaries of Julietta Penn,

  June 16th, 1816

  But how?

  I must calm down. I must think of how to deal with Ualu. He is why all their thoughtful tactics fail. I should thank Sam for the Tamazight lesson. A name chosen for fear reveals much. I understand the oversight before, and it doesn't bother me. I understand those deaths, and they do not bother me. I will deal with it. I will face it. I am going to help these people. Gio won't notice, and if he does, he won't mind, and if he does, I'll ... What will I do? Hide? How?

  How did we get here, from where we began? From the compliments and the 'fellow citizen’ jokes and "We're going to go far, kid"? From "Safety first, money second, but valuable friends can trump"? From "Sure, we're dirty, but let's not get messy"?

  Even as things cooled, I didn't understand the growing fear. There were worse things out there than a man with the soul of a weasel. I tried to think the best, for old time's sake.

  I tried to convince him to just tell them. I tried. Just tell them everything, and even after what had happened, they might protect us. Before this, they might have protected us.

  How could Gio do it?

  I always, always understood what little blood we'd shed. When someone wants you dead, you want the same for them and make your own odds. I always understood.

  But this? I never expected it. I couldn't believe it.

  How did we come to this?

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  June 17th, 1816

  37º01' S 175º42' E

  I write so that I will not go mad, if I have not already. Today is no fit day for man nor beast, and the bloodiest I have ever seen. We rest among carnage, while the wounded, the dying, and the dead are sorted. The Maori determine, sometimes by the smallest of signs, who among the fallen was of their tribe and who was some other, for many with crushed skulls and torn faces are hard to discern, and everything, it seems, is drenched in blood.

  Damn Larkin for forcing our hand and leaving us with no time to prepare beyond some mad rush. Damn York for giving no thought to those whom he and his Moroccan have so terrified into following them – and for forcing this sight not just upon men of war, but women and children's eyes.

  No sooner were we arming ourselves to leave than Miss Penn demanded that she be permitted to join us, claiming that she had some vital role to play in this battle. She said that the new tribesmen had told her that it was not York who had so terrified the Maori into subservience, though he did slaughter the Frenchmen who once held those posts, but Ualu. They call him in particular not a man but a devil bound in black flesh, of great sorcery and power.

  This is much of why those of the Maori who knew something of this were so fascinated all this time with Miss Penn, believing she could somehow counter the magics the Moroccan professes to wield. She said that though we did not believe her to possess the gypsy gifts, the Maori did, and with her along, they might believe they were not cursed to lose. While reluctant, we agreed, but she was to keep to the back.

  Miss Bowe went forth first, flying with her ornithopter, and managed alone to clear some of their scouts. Our warbands followed after, moving as quietly as we were able with so many men. Certainly they were expecting us, with Larkin among them, but how they managed, on such short notice, to be so precisely prepared to meet us is all the more maddening even now.

  As is the preference of the Maori, our first sign of opposition was a charge. We had thought that in preparation, they might keep their forces behind walls with muskets readied. York, however, showed his usual casual disregard for life, putting massed forces to wait until some signal, then charge in a wave towards us before we had even emerged into the lands cleared by the French forces and their trading partners. We had no time to ready the muskets into lines, though even among the Maori, such a mass of humanity cannot be silent, so we had warning before they were upon us.

  At first, everything was simply a chaos of blood and spears. York had perfectly predicted our timing and direction of approach. That precision kept us from reaching ground where Miss Coltrane could join us, which initially cost us dearly in lives.

  The Maori's courage and the discipline and coordination we'd all been working on paid off. In the midst of the confusion, a number of spearmen closed ranks around some of our muskets. While their usual instinct might have been to join the battle, I think they understood that there was just as much courage and honor to be gained in buying time for our guns to organize and fire. Indeed, a number of those brave men sacrificed themselves doing so. I barely recognized some of the men defending me as I approached the line of guns being formed at the edge of more open ground. I can only assume that some of the newcomers, impressed we seemed to have a plan amidst the shifting sea of bodies, joined in the effort. I'm grateful they did.

  While they knew where and when we would be coming, I do not think the enemy was prepared for this tactic. A wave of confusion hit them at the first roar of concerted musket fire, and a number of them fell back, while others stopped in their tracks, breaking the massed charge. The brief confusion bought us time for the second rank to form up and fire into the mass of enemies as well, while our spears kept the enemy's front line from reaching us.

  Somewhere amidst the chaos outside of our knot of troops, Eddy managed to rally his own around himself and Matthew. By the time I saw him, he had taken up one of those greenstone clubs and smashed his way through enemy ranks towards us. Many of the men he had been training had been forced to begin using their muskets as clubs, but were bravely fighting at his side or following after him, trying to reach our position.

  Our ranks opened for him and Matthew, then bought them enough time for Eddy to first catch his breath, for that effort had ne
arly exhausted him in his current state, and then for him to take a position where he could start picking out enemies from the melee. The rest of us weren't able to help with the effort of untangling the close-quarters fighting as he was, but at least we had cover, an unbroken succession of fire, and no shortage of targets still coming at our position.

  Miss Bowe was easy to pick out amidst the chaos, her frontier clothing standing out amidst the barer, darker, and tattooed Maori, and I think she had planned just this. Standing out among these people before their greatest warriors is like presenting a challenge. Over and over, the most heavily tattooed and celebrated of the opposition threatened her, fought their way to her and challenged her in the midst of battle. One by one, she cut them down, dodging under or around their spears, moving inside the reach of their clubs, faster, I would wager, than any opponent they had ever imagined.

  This tactic cost them as well, as many of their greatest fell due to their insistence upon seeking out the opposition's strongest warrior for direct challenge. That we had that warrior to distract their best, and the greater discipline, we were able to avoid being crushed by simple numbers. The tribes we had not trained with had learned the value of muskets, but York's soldiers did not know how to put them to best use and still approached this field like they had every other in their history.

  Eddy, for his own part, disregarded their honor entirely. When a target presented itself as an enemy of note, he picked the man off. If ever a single man had won a battle, this may have been it, for though many of their troops remained, they were deprived of leadership far faster than they were deprived of numbers, and our enemies fell to chaos.